


stranger than fiction

by bloomsoftly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, F/M, Magical Realism, but not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-30 15:06:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomsoftly/pseuds/bloomsoftly
Summary: Steve—adrift in a century not his own and disillusioned with the country he once sacrificed everything for—is having a hard time finding something to believe in.When a mysterious book falls into his lap, almost literally, he gets a glimpse of a world—and a love—he never could have imagined.Too bad it isn't real... right?





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fudebusho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fudebusho/gifts).



> it’s been (longer than) a while, but i’ve been working on a commission for fudebusho! it’ll be at least 7,500 words in total, if anyone’s wondering.
> 
> for the record, the premise to this story was actually an idea of littleplebe's, my love and muse, and all credit for the creativity goes to her. she’s the absolute best. also a million thanks to zephrbabe for the alpha read--she’s the reason i’m posting part one now.

_September 2013_

With a heavy sigh, Steve slid his key into the door of his Washington, D.C. apartment. One slight turn of his wrist and he was trudging inside, kicking it shut behind him. He just couldn’t bring himself to care about the muddy print his combat boots left against the wood, dark and accusing in an otherwise pristine apartment.

Clean, and cold. The chill seeped into his bones, casting his thoughts into a dark spiral.

He missed New York. Brooklyn—even with its black-gray grime and crowded streets—was permanently fixed in his memory as warm smiles, honest people. Home. Home, and a century in the past.

“C’mon, Steve,” he chastised himself. “You’re never going back there. Gotta stop living in the past.” That’s what everyone was always telling him, anyway. Still, he found himself standing in front of the pictures of his old life—Peggy, _Bucky_ —without ever giving his legs permission to move.

He reached out, hand shaking and heart breaking as it always did. Just before his fingertips could brush the glass, though, he found the strength to pull away. Turning his back on the past, Steve shook himself.

_A shower_ , he thought. He’d feel better after washing away the sweat and grime of training another day away with the S.T.R.I.K.E. team. There was nothing wrong with him that a little steam couldn’t fix, surely.

It wasn’t until he’d showered and changed into comfortable lounge clothes (a major benefit of the 21st century, he’d readily admit) that he noticed the book on his bedside table. A garishly bright red bow was stuck to the top of it, and he wondered how he’d missed it on the way to his shower. From the bathroom doorway, he could see the letters _SGR_ prominently embossed in gold lettering across the front.

He’d been alive (both times) long enough to be more than a little suspicious—but then again, he was in possession of more than one overly-sneaky teammate. And on that thought, he pulled out his phone and texted Natasha.

_Do you know anything about the book in my apartment?_

Her reply was immediate.

_Well hello to you, too_.

_I saw you an hour ago, Nat. Do you?_

_I don’t know what you’re talking about_ , she replied.

Off-kilter as always when it came to the redhead, Steve waited. He wasn’t sure whether she was toying with him or genuinely didn’t know. One minute passed, then two, and just as his suspicion of the book was about to take over, his phone dinged.

_It’s not from me_ , Nat said. The little dots signaling her typing appeared, then disappeared. Steve huffed in annoyance, ready to throw the damn thing across the room when it vibrated in his hand.

_But if someone were to hypothetically have the ability to access surveillance of your apartment, they would reassure you that the book is nothing to be worried about._

All worries about the book disappeared from Steve’s mind.

_Surveillance of my apartment???_

_…_

_Natasha. What surveillance of my apartment._

_Outside cameras, from the street. Chill, Cap._

He dropped the phone onto the bed with slightly more force than necessary and stomped over to pull down the window shades. His phoned dinged once more, but he ignored it.

Hours later, frustrated and more exhausted than ever after thoroughly searching his apartment for bugs (he hadn’t found any, not that he’d really expected to; SHIELD far outclassed him in stealth and covert operations), Steve gave up and crawled into bed. It wasn’t until he reached to turn the light off that he remembered the cause of the whole fiasco in the first place.

He scowled at the book. “Well, let’s see if you were worth all the trouble,” he grumped, reaching over to haul it into his lap. With absolutely no ceremony, he opened it to a random page.

It was completely blank. With a deepening frown, he thumbed through the remaining pages. They were all blank.

“What a waste,” he groaned as he tossed it aside, remembering at the last second that it was most likely a gift from someone he knew and he should be gentle with it. Out of simple courtesy, if nothing else.

The lamp clicked off, glinting against the gold lettering as the light faded from the room. As Steve turned over and fell into a fatigued sleep, his last thought was _at least I can use it to practice my sketches. If I ever have time, anyway_.

 

* * *

 

The sun was bright, and his neighbors were cheerful in spite of the bone-chilling wind that whistled and moaned its way down the street. Still, the frigid air was biting even through his coat and Steve was ready to escape inside to hot chocolate, sly jokes, and— there was someone waiting for him, wasn’t there? For a second, the street, the people, the buildings all lost their familiarity and he stood frozen in the middle of the sidewalk.

Steve shook it off, blaming the cold for his momentary confusion. He needed to get home.

The bright red door was cheerful and welcoming, a smile tugging at his lips as it always did when he saw it. The door knob turned beneath his hand, pulled backward with more force than he’d intended. And there was suddenly a man standing there, grinning that heart-achingly familiar grin and smiling with familiar blue eyes.

“Took you long enough, punk!” Bucky clapped him solidly on the shoulder, turning to let Steve in the door. Steve, who was frozen on the doorstep, stuck between warm familiarity and paralyzing shock.

As soon as he saw his friend’s face, Bucky’s expression morphed into pure concern. “Are you alright, Stevie?” he asked, leaning in to brace Steve’s shoulder with a stronger grip. “Are you having a—a moment?”

Steve blinked, then shook his head and let the world slide into focus once more. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, then continued, “Yeah, I think I was.”

Bucky smiled again, but it was softer this time. Sadder. “It happens, buddy. Think you can shake it off and enjoy the rest of the evening? Your girl has us all decked out for the incoming storm, but if you need space for yourself you know she won’t mind.”

“No, I’m fine,” Steve replied automatically, before his brain caught up to the rest of Bucky’s words.

_His girl?_

“What are the two of you old grumps doing, letting all the cold in like that?” A feminine voice called. The soft thud of socked feet against wood echoed through the hallway. “Please don’t tell me this is the lead-in to one of those ‘in my days’ jokes…”

And there she was, striding toward him like a vision. He couldn’t move, dumbstruck by the beauty of her, the way her eyes glowed, her lips stretched in an easy grin. Melting under her confident touch as she stripped the scarf from his neck and stretched up to meet his mouth with hers in a welcoming kiss.

In the corner of his eye, Steve saw Bucky offer a sly wink and a mocking salute before he pivoted on his heel and headed back towards the rest of the townhome. It didn’t seem all that important to keep an eye on his best friend anymore, not when his arms were full of warm, welcoming woman. _This_ woman, his brain insisted.

“Steve?” She asked, pulling away to stare up into his eyes. Even then, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. “Are you alright?”

 

* * *

 

He woke up with a gasp, drenched in sweat and breathing like he’d just finished a marathon. Steve glared wildly about the room, looking for the phantoms of his dream. He ached with missing them, even though he’d just woken up. Bucky wasn’t there—he never was, when Steve woke up—but he closed his eyes against the pain all the same. At least this time he wasn’t tormented with images of his best friend’s fall. In all honesty, Steve didn’t know which of the dreams hurt more—watching his friend’s death, or dreaming of future, happier days that would never have the opportunity to come to pass.

But it wasn’t just Bucky. Steve’s thumb pressed to his lip as he remembered the woman. _His girl_ , Bucky had called her. Long, dark hair with bright laughing eyes and lips made for him to worship. He reveled in the memory of the kiss, almost sure that he could feel the press of her mouth against his, the sweetness of her breath as she breathed him in.

His eyes shot open, his breath heaving in renewed confusion. Bucky’s presence he could understand—there was nothing he wanted more than to get his best friend back, to erase what happened to him. But the woman—who was she?

_Who was she, and why hadn’t he dreamed of Peggy instead?_

Steve was tugged from his internal crisis by the blaring of his phone. Another mission. Steve vowed to shove any more thoughts of his dream aside until later, as he always did, for when he had time and energy to deal with them.

As he rushed through the room to gear up and head out, he missed the soft glowing of the book, still perched at a precarious angle on his bedside table.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most of the comments i received on part one were some iteration of 'i have no idea what's happening here or where you're going with this but i'm here for it'...  
> and i'm loving it!
> 
> here's part two. i hope it lives up to your (somewhat nebulous) expectations. ;)
> 
> for the record, i wrote this entire chapter in one evening after seeing the response to the last one. thank you so much to all of you for feeding the muse.

“You know,” Bucky began, stepping out into the gusting wind as he zipped his coat up to the bottom of his chin. His eyes were sniper sharp, never leaving Steve. Steve, who hovered a little too close to the balcony for his best friend’s peace of mind. “You know, I think being put on ice was the best thing that ever happened to us.”  
  
“What?” Steve asked sharply, pivoting on his heel to put his back to the Manhattan skyline. He couldn't remember what he'd been thinking only a moment before—now his brain was torn apart. Partly in confusion ( _Bucky wasn't with him and the tesseract when they froze_ , a little voice demanded), but mostly in disbelief (how could their experiences in this new century ever be justified—all they were was lonely and confused and lost). “Buck, I understand you wanna make the best of the situation, but how could you ever say that?”  
  
“C’mon, Stevie, how could I not? We both know where I'd be if SHIELD hadn't put me under for a few decades or more.”  
  
Steve shuddered, finally feeling the whip of the cold wind through his jacket. His mind’s eye was filled with a vision of Bucky falling from the train, of Steve not reaching him in time. It felt too real.  
  
As it was, Bucky had been uncomfortably close to death by the end of their mission. And that was before they discovered the extent of Hydra’s torture.  
  
“Sorry, Buck, I wasn't—”  
  
“No, I get it, punk. I thought the Feds were lying, just like you. That they'd _put us under until we were healed or the world needed us again_ or whatever bullshit they said—I can't even remember anymore—and we’d just conveniently never wake up. Relics of an era everyone wanted to forget, witnesses to things they never wanted to see the light of day.”  
  
“Yeah, me too.” Steve grinned, even as he tried to rake a numb hand through his half-frozen hair. “Peggy never would've let them get away with that, though.”  
  
Bucky laughed, the sound carried away on the wind. It was loud and boisterous, and his eyes lit with affection as he thought of the feisty brunette. “You've got that damn right. She'd have strung them up by their drawers if they even tried.” He sighed theatrically, winking at Steve. “Too bad I never convinced her to give me a shot. It's a little too late now, though, isn't it?”  
  
Steve laughed, jerking his head toward the building to let his friend know he was ready to brave the indoors once more. He clapped Bucky on the shoulder as he passed, still chuckling. “Then or now or a hundred years from now, Buck; you still wouldn't have the proper… parts… to tempt Peggy. She's too good for you, anyway.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky said, following Steve through the doorway. “Let a fella dream, would you?” He elbowed Steve in the ribs as the door slid shut behind them. “Not that you ever seemed all that sad about it. Got your eye on a different brunette these days, huh?”  
  
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Steve lied. It would've been more believable if his shoulders hadn't stiffened at the implication, but then again he'd never been a good liar.  
  
Bucky hummed. “Sure. And if I were to think about asking a certain intern to dinner, you wouldn't care.”  
  
Steve opened his mouth to tell him that _she_ was also too good for him—not that Bucky didn't already know that, the jerk, what with all the pining Steve had been suffering through for months, almost ever since they woke up in the future. He froze instead when he heard the low chuckle of the woman in question, who rounded the corner in front of them as if she'd been summoned.  
  
“What poor soul are you trying to torment now, Barnes?” she teased, tossing Steve a wink even as her lips turned up into a sly smile. “Be quick with a name, now, so I can warn the girl to stay far, far away from you.”  
  
“Who said it was a girl?” Bucky rejoined, answering her wink with a saucy one of his own. “It's a new century, haven't you heard?”  
  
“Good Lord, Barnes,” she laughed, “that makes it even worse. If you'll excuse me, I need to go make some flyers. _Beware of Barnes_ —that sounds nice and catchy, doesn't it? I'll need to print as many as I can, now that I know no one’s safe from your attention.”  
  
Her laugh followed in her wake as she sauntered back down the hall, disappearing as quickly as she'd come.  
  
Bucky, still chuckling at the sheer nerve of the young woman, turned his eyes on Steve and laughed even harder.  
  
“Steve,” he gasped, bending at the knees to catch his breath, “are you just gonna hang out in the hallway all afternoon, or are you gonna pick your jaw up from the floor before someone catches on? Your crush on Miss Lewis would be visible from the _moon_.”  
  
Steve blushed, hard. “I—” he began, then had to swallow roughly and start over. “I don't have a crush.” There, at least his voice didn't shake. His jaw didn't even twitch.  
  
“Nah, you're right. My bad, punk. That's not a crush, is it?” Bucky stepped right in front of him, his expression sobering into a sincere mien. “That's love, Steve.”  
  
He clapped his still-frozen friend on the shoulder and continued on his way down the hall, not pausing even as he tossed over his shoulder, “And luckily for you, I'm pretty sure the girl feels the same way.”

 

* * *

 

“Cap. Hey, Cap! What's wrong with him?”  
  
“He's fine. Just give him a minute.”  
  
“Cap, are you with us? I need your head in the game. You're no good to us dead, man.” Rumlow’s leering smile shook Steve out of his thoughts. They all seemed to be pulled in one direction, lately.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, no, I'm good.”  
  
“Good, ‘cause we're nearing the target. Contact in five.”

 

* * *

 

“So…” Darcy began, lightly stroking the petals of a daffodil as they stepped onto one of the dirt paths leading into Prospect Park. “Whose idea was it to take me out for brunch on our first date?”  
  
“Did you not enjoy it?” Steve worried, panicking that he'd ruined his chance with the beautiful woman on their very first date. He'd thought it was going incredibly well, until her question.  
  
“Relax, Steve,” she laughed, placing a reassuring arm on his bicep. “I'm having a great time. You just seem like a traditional dinner date kind of guy, is all.”  
  
“I am,” Steve confessed rather sheepishly, “or I guess, I would've been seven decades or so ago. But I've been reliably informed that things have changed. Plus, taking you to brunch meant that our date wouldn't have to end immediately after the meal, if we were both having fun.”  
  
“I don't know about you,” she teased with a brilliant smile, “but I'm having a wonderful time.” She squeezed his arm as she spoke, and he had to focus on not tripping over his own feet. Super soldier or not, this woman turned him upside down.  
  
The silence lingered a moment too long, and he suddenly remembered to reply. “I am! I mean—I am,” he hastened to reassure. With red cheeks, he looked up to catch her amused grin. But she didn't say anything else, just squeezed his arm again as they meandered down the path.  
  
“Would you like to find a place to sit?” he asked, enjoying the unseasonably warm spring air but mostly just eager to spend more time with her.  
  
“Absolutely. Let's find a good spot to people watch.”  
  
And so they did, watching the joggers and the families and the various pick-up games taking place across the wide open space. Steve's heart seized with a terrible fondness, even as he tamped down the nostalgia it usually evoked. _Good ol’ Brooklyn_.  
  
When he glanced back at Darcy, she was staring down at the flowers in her lap with a thoughtful look on her face.  
  
“Do you not like them?” he wondered, gesturing toward the bouquet when she looked up in confusion.  
  
“Hmm? No, no, I absolutely love them. I was just wishing I knew how to make a flower crown, that's all. I never learned how to do it, which is a shame.”  
  
Snagging the flowers out of her lap, Steve grinned. “I'm sure we can come up with something. Let's have a look.”  
  
“No!” she shrieked, lunging for them only to miss when he jerked them out of her reach. Ignoring his chuckles at the length of his arm span compared to hers, she insisted, “I don't want to ruin your lovely bouquet! It was just a thought, Steve. Really.”  
  
“And it was a good one. I bought them for you to enjoy, Darce. And you're right, they'd make a gorgeous flower crown. Now hush up and let me figure this out.”  
  
And sure enough, a few minutes later she was proudly sporting a (slightly wobbly) colorful crown of springtime flowers. Steve’s hands twitched with the desire to draw her, gorgeous and glowing with happiness in the early afternoon sun.  
  
“What,” she prompted, reaching up to touch a flower self-consciously. “Does it look funny?”  
  
“No,” he croaked, his voice breaking slightly even as he tried to shake off the sudden urge to hunt down a pencil and paper. “No, it's perfect. You're perfect.”  
  
There was a lovely, rosy shade to her cheeks when she was pleasantly surprised, Steve noted to himself. And at any other time, he'd have tried to memorize it for later (when he had the proper tools to immortalize her beauty, even if only in the privacy of his own notebook).  
  
This time, though, he was a little preoccupied.  
  
Because Darcy, taking the initiative in this as in all things, had skipped right over her slight blush to plant her lips against his.  
  
As soon as her mouth touched his, Steve stopped thinking. The outside world ceased to exist, at least for him, and all he could focus on was the soft supple feel of her lips against his. The way she tugged his lower lip between his teeth and slid her tongue into his mouth. The faint taste of syrup and the fragrance of the daffodils in her hair.  
  
He hadn't been lying. She was absolutely perfect.  
  
_This is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with_ , he thought quite suddenly, the words spinning round his brain with an odd sort of clarity.

 

* * *

 

“You got something to tell me, Steve?”  
  
“What? No, Nat, I'm fine.”  
  
“You're something. The jury’s still out on whether the appropriate descriptor is fine. But what you definitely are—is twitchy.” When he didn’t reply quickly enough for her tastes, she poked him.  
  
“Twitchy,” she repeated, flexing her fingers to demonstrate even as she shot a significant look to his right hand. “So either we need to have a conversation about the dangers of drugs or you're in need of a creative outlet.”  
  
“What?” he asked dumbly, still lost at the sudden turn of the conversation.  
  
“Draw,” she commanded. He flinched briefly at the reminder that the spy knew practically everything there was to know about him ( _well, not everything_ , a little voice whispered at the back of his brain, thinking of the book on his bedside table), but she ignored it. “Who knows? It might help.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe,” he muttered, already imagining it. Darcy on her first date with Dream Steve, flowers in her hair and a sparkle in her eyes. She and Bucky laughing in the kitchen as they threw cake batter at each other and smeared frosting in each other's hair. Giggling like children, as close as any blood siblings he’d ever seen.

 

* * *

 

“Why can't you be real?” he murmured, smoothing a tender hand up her neck to cup at her jaw. He smoothed a finger over her lips, which only a moment before had curved in a radiant smile. “All I want is for you to be real.”  
  
“I am real,” she whispered brokenly, trapping his hand with hers only to press it harder against her skin. “Can't you feel me? I'm right here.”  
  
He only shook his head, his brain and his heart at war with each other. “I don't want to wake up this time. Please don't let me wake up, Darce.”  
  
Her breath hitched, and a sob fell into the air between them. Steve watched in amazement as large teardrops welled in her eyes, spilling over and down her cheeks as her face contorted in pain.  
  
She took a shuddery breath in, then eased his hand away from her face and stood. “I'm—I'm going to go get Bucky, Steve. He's more help to you right now, and—and I'll be right back. Okay?”  
  
“No,” he pleaded. “Don't leave me. Please.”  
  
“I'll be right back,” she promised, tears cascading down her cheeks in a silent flood. She rushed to the door and threw it open. He could hear her calling Bucky’s name frantically, and then there was the sound of rushing feet.  
  
And then his best friend was there, gripping his shoulders and staring at him in concern. “Steve. Steve, can you hear me? You're alright, you're okay. You're just having a moment, alright? It'll all come back to you in a second.”  
  
Steve shook his head, ignoring the sting of his own tears as he tried to hold Darcy’s gaze over Bucky’s shoulder. “I don't want to wake up, Buck.”  
  
“You're awake,” his friend swore. “Steve, you're awake. We're not in the ice anymore, okay? This is real life. You're real, I'm real, Darcy’s real,” he declared, gesturing behind him at Steve’s girlfriend who was still crying even as she nodded her agreement.  
  
“I'm awake,” Steve repeated.  
  
“I'm awake.”

 

* * *

 

“Cap, you ready to go?”  
  
“… Yeah. Let's go.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the memories/experiences of dream!steve are supposed to jump around a bit, so don't worry if you feel like the progression of their relationship isn't linear... because it isn't. if you're confused about the timeline of things (without wanting spoilers!) i'm happy to answer them in the comments or on tumblr.
> 
> i have a looooot of backstory and theory going into this fairly-short tale, and i love it a lot.


	3. Three

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” a gentle voice crooned. The soft rasp to the words eased along his aching eardrums like honey, warm and welcoming and impossible to resist.  
  
He was just so tired.  
  
“I know you are, Steve. But it's Christmas morning and a certain best friend of yours is staring at the tree like he expects to find a puppy waiting underneath. Wait—you didn't get him a puppy, right?”  
  
Steve hummed and pressed his face further into the pillow, hiding from the sunlight that was making its way steadily across the bed. “‘Course not, Darce. Bucky can hardly take care of himself at the moment. Maybe in another year or two.”  
  
Wait, what?  
  
He froze beneath the fingers tiptoeing their way across his shoulder blades. Bucky was alive, but he wasn't. This woman—Darce, it had just slipped out—was his girl, but she wasn't. Warily, he turned his cheek to the pillow so he could crack open one eye.  
  
She was there, gorgeous and as confusingly familiar as she’d been in all his previous dreams. She was also staring down at him with growing concern.  
  
“Steve?” She prompted, retracting her hand slowly back to her side. He watched as she twisted them round and round in her lap, missing the heat of her skin against his as soon as she pulled away. “Steve, are you with me?”  
  
He could only stare up at her, sure that it was all another illusion and hating that it couldn't be real. The way she looked at him, spoke to him, clearly loved him. Him, Steve Rogers. Man, not legend.  
  
She frowned and reached out to him, only to jerk to a stop before making contact. Her face contorted into an awkward, pained grimace, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she reminded him, “It’s me. Darcy.”  
  
“Darcy,” he repeated, rolling the name around on his tongue. Like everything else, it felt familiar to him. Treasured, like a combination of sounds he never tired of repeating.  
  
The woman—Darcy—scrunched her nose and moved to get off the bed. “Don't worry, Steve, it's alright. I think—I'll just go get Bucky. He might be what you need right now.”  
  
“No,” he croaked, reaching to snag her wrist before she could pull away completely. “Please, stay. Just you and me.”  
  
It was going to fade, he knew that in his bones, but there was something about her presence. Something about her that he just couldn't resist.  
  
“You sure?” she asked. In response he tugged at her wrist again, drawing her down to the bed. “Alright, alright, Captain Impatient. Budge over.”  
  
He did, just a little, and when she laid down she was still more on top of him than the mattress. But he wanted it that way.  
  
“You could use your words, you know,” she teased. But when he mutely shook his head, her expression softened into something tender. “Oh, that's alright,” she whispered with a smile. “When have we ever needed those anyway?”  
  
“You fell in love with me without them,” he pointed out, the words scraping his throat like razor wire as they forced their way out.  
  
“Without good words,” she corrected. “We're both lucky I don't scare easily.” She punctuated her statement with a gentle kiss, easing the sting of her words with the sensation of her lips on his.  
  
They were soft and supple against his, and he couldn't help but nibble at the corner of her mouth, seizing the opportunity to slide his tongue in to twine with hers when she smiled.  
  
How long they stayed that way, limbs tangled, shrouded from the world by the curtain of her hair, he couldn't say. But when she pulled back to draw breath, his chest ached with impending loss.  
  
“Don't want to wake up,” he muttered despondently.  
  
“Then we'll lie here for a while,” she whispered, stroking her hand through his hair and scratching gently at his scalp. “Bucky can wait a little longer to face his disappointment.”  
  
Steve shook his head, wanting to explain his fears. But the soft, hazy atmosphere was too seductive; he couldn't resist the call of sleep as it beckoned once more.  
  
“Shh,” Darcy murmured against his temple. “It's Christmas and everything is wonderful. I'll be here when you wake up.”  
  
“But you—” he murmured, “and Bucky…”  
  
“Yeah, he'll be here too. He always is.” The tone of her voice was flat and dry, but the smile that curved against his skin was fond. “Sleep, Steve.”  
  
He did.

 

* * *

 

_March 2014_

Waking this time was soft and gentle, like unrolling himself from a fleece cocoon. Steve stretched one arm out to the side, blinking away sunlight when his questing hand met nothing but cool sheets.  
  
The shrill ringing of his phone prevented anything other than a momentary recognition of deep disappointment.  
  
He snagged his phone from on top of the book resting on his bedside table. The book itself was glowing, and he knew if he cracked it open he'd find pages and pages of Dream Steve’s fantasy life, filled to the brim with love and laughter and the presence of Bucky and a woman named Darcy. A perfect narration of every dream he'd had of her since that first one several months ago, with the most recent being a charming anecdote of how she tried to wake him up on a quiet Christmas morning.    
  
He couldn't afford to lose himself in the fantasy of an imaginary life, however; the real world wouldn't wait.  
  
Turning his head away from the tempting sight, Steve answered his phone with a brusque, “Rogers.”  
  
“Alright, Cap, time to stop staring at the sad, boring walls of your apartment and time to rejoin the real world.”  
  
“What do you want, Natasha?” he asked, sharper than he intended. The hoarse rasp to his voice was enough to make him cringe, but he couldn't bring himself to regret his desire to linger in his sleep. He hadn't been that happy or well-rested in his waking life in… well, longer than he cared to remember.  
  
Natasha paused for half a breath, then— “Oh, wow. Were you actually asleep, Steve?” When he didn't respond, knowing by now not to offer personal information freely to the cunning spy, she goaded, “Did you finally make a move on your hot neighbor?”  
  
“I don't know what you're talking about.” And he really didn’t. He tried to picture the woman in question, but all that sprung to mind was miles and miles of rich brown hair and pouty lips. Blue eyes that pierced his soul. If only his neighbor was the woman of his dreams. Steve’s life had never been that simple, though, and he let loose an almost-silent sigh as he rolled himself upright and stared unseeingly out his bedroom window.  
  
His sometimes-friend hummed in amused disbelief. “Alright, if you say so. Meet me for lunch when you get up. You spend way too much time cooped up in that apartment of yours. At least, when you're not running circles around poor fools at the National Mall.”  
  
“Sorry, Nat, no can do.” And he almost meant the apology, hearing how her voice gentled ever so slightly in concern even as she ordered him around. “I've got plans today. It'll have to be a rain check.”  
  
“Fine. I won't let you out of it so easily next time, Rogers.” And with that ominous warning, she hung up on him.  
  
Steve huffed a derisive laugh and stood all the way up, wondering why she’d capitulated so easily. Whatever the reason, his peaceful rest was clearly not going to be revisited anytime soon, so he might as well get on with the day.

 

* * *

 

Peggy looked the same as she always did, these days. She recognized him immediately, with those sharp brown eyes lighting up in happiness and regret as she took him in. He felt much the same, old and aching with a bone-deep sadness every time he looked at her.  
  
He never thought she'd ever be so frail. It hurt to breathe, remembering who she'd been and where she was now, aching with the knowledge of how long it'd been between. For her, anyway.  
  
“There’s something different about you,” she murmured, drawing his attention away from his melancholy thoughts. With a sort of bitter fondness, Steve reflected that her gaze still had the ability to rip him to shreds. Sharp and unyielding—he’d never been able to hide from that look. Her eyes softened with something like a mix of understanding and pride, even as grief pulled low at one corner of her mouth.  
  
Before he could shrug off her observation, she spoke again. “You’re less exhausted, this time. Finally getting some rest in the 21st century, hmm?” Her jaw worked, and then she added very quietly, “It’s alright to be happy, Steve. I found it, too, you know… eventually. Happiness—happiness looks very good on you. And you deserve it.”  
  
She meant it, and that made the truth even harder to bear. Steve’s chest ached with guilt, staring at his first love even while his heart burned for another. A woman with dark curls and red lips and… who probably didn’t even exist. How could he respond to Peggy’s happiness for him—her gentle acceptance that he’d moved on—when the woman he’d slowly been falling for was a figment of his imagination?  
  
As she watched his face contort into a myriad of conflicting emotions, Peggy’s mouth softened. It changed her whole face—wrinkles and age showing in a way he hadn't noticed when he first walked in. Like she was tired, but somehow at peace in a way she hadn't been before.  
  
“It's okay to be in love,” she said softly, watching his expression with that same sad smile.  
  
“Peggy…” he began, only to cut himself off. He wasn't about to admit the truth of the situation, not when they were both already hurting so much. With a sharp inhale—the breath hitting the back of his throat in a way that burned terribly—he finally added lamely, “It's not like that.”  
  
Peggy’s eyes lit up and she laughed right in his face. “Well, whatever it's like, Steve, it looks good on you. Hold onto that, alright? With both hands, gripping as hard as you can.” She reached out for him to demonstrate.  
  
Broken-hearted and bitter, Steve didn't mention that her grip was the weakest it had ever been.  
  
They stared at each other for a long moment before he gave in and squeezed back.  
  
“Alright, Peg.” Then he grinned, shaking off the cloud of melancholy with determined cheer. “I never could say no to you, could I?”  
  
“And with good reason,” she rejoined, smirking at him beneath lively brown eyes.  
  
Even as he watched, though, she was overcome by a coughing fit. His heart sank as she turned her face back toward him, recognizing the puzzled look on her face.  
  
“Steve,” she exclaimed, having no idea that his already-shattered heart was breaking into tinier and tinier pieces, “you're alive!”  
  
  
  
He waited until he'd gotten back to his apartment to cry.  
  
Staring at the glowing book on his bedside table, his shoulders shook with grief and rage.  
  
_Just once,_ he wondered. _Just once, couldn't the universe go his way?_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're confused why sometimes steve throws himself wholeheartedly into his dreams and sometimes he seems more aware that it's all wrong, just know that it's on purpose. i don't know about y'all, but my awareness of real life in dreams is always different. sometimes i'm fully in it, sometimes i know it's not right but i go along with it anyway, and sometimes i wake myself up (usually from nightmares). 
> 
> so it's definitely on purpose, and i think it happens to mimic real life. *shrug*

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments make the world go 'round.


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